Chapter 6: The Designer's Emergence
1197words
I gazed at my reflection in his clinical mirror. After six weeks of intensive treatments, the angry red scars had faded to pale pink marks. Not gone, but significantly improved.
"The microneedling next week will further improve the texture," he said, stepping back to assess his work. "You have beautiful bone structure, Miss Whitestone. It's emerging now."
I touched my face gingerly. "Thank you."
An hour later, I sat in Alessandra's salon chair as she studied my short platinum hair, now growing out from my impulsive cut.
"We lighten more," she decided, mixing bleach. "Frame your face, emphasize those eyes. Trust me."
I did trust her. Milan had taught me to trust again—Professor Bianchi with my designs, Dr. Moretti with my skin, Alessandra with my appearance. Only with Cassian did I still maintain careful walls, walls that grew more fragile with each encounter.
Three hours later, Alessandra spun my chair toward the mirror. "Ecco! Now you are ready for Milano Fashion Week!"
The woman staring back at me was a stranger—platinum hair styled in an elegant asymmetrical cut that emphasized my cheekbones, skin luminous despite the remaining scars, eyes bright with a confidence I'd never possessed in England.
"I have one more surprise," Alessandra said, handing me a garment bag. "From Professor Bianchi. He says you must wear your own design tonight."
Inside was my latest creation—a midnight blue cocktail dress with architectural shoulders and a neckline that drew attention upward to the face. I'd designed it as an exercise, never intending to wear it myself.
"Tonight?" I asked, confused.
"The pre-Fashion Week reception at Palazzo Visconti! All the important designers will be there." She winked. "Including a certain handsome businessman who sponsored your invitation."
My heart stuttered. Cassian.
I hadn't seen him in three days, not since our tense conversation about Orion and Isolde's impending arrival. He'd been keeping his distance, and I'd told myself it was for the best.
"I wasn't planning to attend," I said.
"Sciocchezze! Nonsense! Professor Bianchi says it's mandatory for his protégée."
Two hours later, I stood at the entrance of the magnificent palazzo, clutching my invitation like a shield. The grand ballroom buzzed with Milan's fashion elite—designers, models, journalists, and investors.
I scanned the crowd, simultaneously hoping to see and not see Cassian. Then the sea of people parted, and there he was, deep in conversation with an elegant older woman I recognized as the editor of Italian Vogue.
He glanced up, his eyes finding mine across the room. The recognition in his gaze shifted to something else—something that made heat bloom across my skin. He excused himself and moved toward me with purpose.
"Seraphina," he said, his voice lower than usual. "You look..."
"Different?" I supplied.
"Extraordinary." His eyes traveled over my face, my hair, my dress, with an intensity that made me shiver. "That's your design?"
I nodded. "Professor Bianchi insisted I wear it."
"He was right." Cassian's hand lifted as if to touch my face, then dropped. "You've always been beautiful, but now—"
"Now I'm acceptable in public?" I couldn't keep the edge from my voice.
His expression hardened. "That's not what I meant."
"Isn't it? You've barely spoken to me since you learned Orion was coming."
"Because it's complicated, Seraphina." He glanced around, then took my elbow, guiding me to a quieter alcove. "You're twenty-two. I'm forty. I'm your tormentor's uncle, your father's business associate."
"I'm aware of the mathematics and the relationships, Cassian."
"Are you aware of what people would say? What they would think?"
"Since when do you care what people think?"
His jaw tightened. "Since it could affect your future. Your reputation in this industry is just beginning."
"That's not your decision to make."
"No, but this is." He stepped back, creating distance between us. "Whatever this is—whatever we might feel—it can't happen. For your sake."
Before I could respond, Professor Bianchi appeared, pulling me away to meet potential mentors. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of introductions and compliments on my design. Cassian kept his distance, though I felt his eyes on me throughout the night.
I left early, emotionally exhausted. The apartment welcomed me with familiar silence as I kicked off my heels and reached for the lights.
"You left without saying goodbye."
I whirled around. Cassian sat in the shadows of my living room, a folder on the coffee table before him.
"How did you get in here?" I demanded, heart racing.
"I still have the spare key from when I arranged the apartment." He stood, his height imposing in the small space. "I came to leave these for you—contact information for buyers and manufacturers interested in new designers."
"So you let yourself into my home? Without permission?"
"I was trying to help."
"No, you were trying to control the situation. Like you always do." Anger and attraction warred within me. "You can't have it both ways, Cassian. You can't push me away in public then invade my private space."
He moved closer. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Isn't it? You decide I need protection from Orion. You decide our age difference is too great. You decide what's best for my career." Each accusation brought me a step closer to him. "When do I get to decide?"
"What would you decide, Seraphina?" His voice was dangerously soft.
"That I'm not a child. That I've had enough of men making choices for me."
We stood inches apart now, the air between us electric with tension.
"I'm trying to do the right thing," he said, his control visibly slipping.
"The right thing for whom?"
Something broke in his expression. In two swift steps, he closed the distance between us, backing me against the wall. His hands planted on either side of my head, caging me without touching me.
"Do you have any idea," he said, his voice rough with restraint, "how hard it is to be near you? To watch you transform into this confident, brilliant woman and know I should keep my distance?"
I could feel his breath on my face, see the pulse hammering in his throat.
"Then don't," I whispered.
For one breathless moment, I thought he would kiss me. His eyes dropped to my lips, his body leaned imperceptibly closer.
Then he pushed away from the wall with such force I felt the vibration through my back.
"This can't happen," he said, his voice strained. "Not like this."
"Cassian—"
"Your father arrives tomorrow. Orion and Isolde the day after." He moved toward the door. "If they discover you're here, if they learn about your transformation, they'll try to drag you back. Everything you've built could be destroyed."
"I won't let them."
"Neither will I." His hand gripped the doorknob. "Which is why I need to keep my distance. For both our sakes."
The door closed behind him with a decisive click, leaving me alone with the ghost of his almost-touch burning on my skin and the certainty that whatever walls we'd built between us were crumbling faster than either of us could repair them.
